


The Escape

by Amymel86



Series: The Outside [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Continuation of another one shot, F/M, Future, Hand Job, Jon Snow literally knows nothing, awkward fumble, but not really??, soldier jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: “What is your identifier?”She looks up at him, broken from her habit of pretending he is not there. She blinks. No words.Jon steps closer, not liking the way fear rounds her eyes as he nears. “If I’m to risk my life for your escape, I would like to know what to call you before we do this.”
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: The Outside [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929445
Comments: 22
Kudos: 143





	The Escape

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey! So this one is a continuation of my previous one shot 'Snow264' - and you'll have to read that one first for this au to make sense (I've put them both in a series called 'The Outside'). I hope you enjoy!

The woman doesn’t like talking to him. She’s still afraid, Jon thinks. There’s no trust in her eyes when she looks at him and it’s a sensation he’s not used to. As a Crow, Jon must rely and be relied upon by his brothers. They are trained from childhood to trust their fellow soldiers, trust their superiors and doubt only The Outside and the enemy.

Jon has given the nice looking woman his word that he will help her escape, but this is not enough for her. It perplexes him immensely.

He has been given his hours with her only once since first laying eyes on her campfire hair and her sky eyes and those special curves on her chest. She barely talks to him. Only asks questions about the bunker – how many guards, building layout, nearest exit. She must have experience with tactical movement on The Outside.

He wants to ask her lots of questions too, but he doesn’t think she would like that. Mostly, she gives him commands or sits on her cot with her arms wrapped around herself while ignoring his existence. Jon doesn’t mind her commands so much – they are different to when his generals holler at him during training or combat; softer but dripping in fear. He wants to tell her to not be afraid. Fear is not good for a soldier and Jon has had it beaten out of him.

He would never subject the nice woman to that though.

Jon wants to tell his bunkmates about her - to tell them that a woman’s body is smaller and softer and that they smell different.

She smells so good. The whole room that they keep her in smells of her and Jon would very much like to spend more time with that smell. It makes him wrinkle his nose at the scent of his own bunk.

He cannot tell anyone, of course. Not only has he been ordered to stay quiet about the new breeding programme, but he suspects his chances of helping her escape would be greatly hampered if he should tell his bunkmates of how nice women really are and how babies come to be and how he knows all this new information.

He thinks about all that new information he’s learned when he’s alone in his cot. The bunk lights are out and he feels the need to wrap his hand around himself while he thinks... while he... pictures things in his mind. He makes a mess and wipes it up with his undergarments. Normally, he’ll fall asleep pretty soon after the act, but recently he’s had trouble sleeping – trouble with disengaging his thoughts.

Broken sleep before a mission is not helpful to a soldier.

“What is your identifier?” Jon asks on this, his final visit before he makes his attempt at her escape.

She looks up at him, broken from her habit of pretending he is not there. She blinks. No words.

Jon steps closer, not liking the way fear rounds her eyes as he nears. “If I’m to risk my life for your escape, I would like to know what to call you before we do this.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. Her lips look soft. He’s almost overcome with the urge to brush his fingers against them. “Alayne,” she says. “My name is Alayne.”

The sound of it echoes in Jon’s skull. He simply nods. “Be ready,” he tells her. “Tonight.”

***

The nearest exit from where Alayne is being held is the supplies and deliveries depot. Jon had never been there before but he’d asked General Yoren what was there. Yoren was not quick to suspect or punish for curiosity - unlike some of this other commanders - so Jon had simply explained that he’d heard noises coming from that direction and wanted to be sure the bunker was secure – especially now they have a civilian on site. Yoren had snorted derisively. “Just where all yer food, uniform and gear gets brought in, lad. The noises yer hear are delivery trucks.”

This was useful.

Yesterday he’d managed to swipe a security card from one of the men in white coats. The man had left the room for a moment, clipboard in hand and never once suspecting that one of their obedient crows would rifle through his drawers while he was gone. Jon’s heart had been pounding in his ears. He’s never gone against protocol like that before.

His brother crows were deep in slumber when Jon slipped from his cot. He’d memorised as many security codes as he could from watching General Yoren intently the past few days. He ducks into the arms room before going to get her, feeling the need to at least have a SIG on him for this dangerous mission. The doors to Alayne’s room whoosh open and she’s already there, standing, her make-shift shiv pointing in his direction. She’s alert and clever. Jon wonders if this is a trait in all women. “Come,” he says, leading the way.

They find their way to the depot. Jon had expected the place to be empty at this time of night; expected to use the security card and swipe their way out. There were people – not many. Deliveries continued through the night, it seems. Ducking down behind a large crate, Jon peeks out to watch the truck now arriving – sacks and sacks of oats and grains. Five men help unload. Jon’s pulse is drumming in his ears. He needs to treat this like any other campaign on The Outside. Stay calm, stay alert. He glances behind him at Alayne. She’s clutching her shiv as she crouches beside him. Why does this feel so much more important than any mission he’s been on with The Watch? “We might be able to get in the back of that truck,” he whispers.

Alayne nods.

They have their chance a few moments later when the depot workers invite the delivery driver to sit with them for refreshment. “Come on,” Jon whispers. He helps Alayne up into the back of the truck. It’s the only time he’s touched her since that first day when she’d held his hands and begged him to help her. There’s electricity in her touch. Do civilian men feel that too when they touch their women? There’s not much time to ponder on it – they can hear the workers returning. “Here,” he says, hastily grabbing some of the sheets of tarp piled at the back of the truck. He tucks her under it and joins her there.

They are close – closer than Jon has ever been to a civilian. The colour of the tarpaulin is making her look blue. Jon doesn’t like her looking blue. He likes the warm colour of her cheeks and the fire of her hair. Her breathing is not steady, he can feel her hot breath on his face. She’s scared. They listen to the men. Someone has stepped onto the back of the truck with them. Jon can hear his workboots as he walks. He reaches for his SIG as they wait. He looks at Alayne, hoping she can see that he won’t let them take her again without a fight. All he sees is her fear and it twists his guts in knots.

The man merely bundles more tarp on top of them, the material crinkling as he folds it and tries to make it one, rather messy pile in the corner of the truck. Jon would be reprimanded if he’d left his uniform or bunk in half this state.

The footsteps retreat and they can hear the man pull down the shutter on the truck. A few seconds later, the engine starts with a rumble and Jon and Alayne breathe a sigh of relief. Part of him wants to stay here, huddled close to her for the rest of the journey – so close that he’s surrounded by that really nice smell of hers. But he cannot. He needs to stay alert – as soon as the truck stops, they will make a run for it. He hopes this plan will work.

***

It isn’t even an hour on the road and the truck has come to a stop. They stand there, listening to the driver alight his cabin and come ‘round to the back; hear the clink-clunk of him unlocking the shutter, he with his gun and she with her sharpened shard of plastic. The hatch goes up and a flood of light comes in, blinding them both. The driver shouts and Jon aim’s his SIG at the most offensive light. Glass shatters. The light is out but they’re not in the dark yet. Quickly assessing the surroundings, they seem to be at the back of a warehouse. Pallets of more sacks await to be loaded into the back of the truck. Jon jumps down and points his gun at the driver. “Back away!” he commands. “Hands up high!” He hears the light thud of Alayne’s shoes hitting the ground behind him. More men come out of the building, Jon points his weapon at them. None of them are armed. “Hands up, all of you!” They comply. “No one move and no one gets hurt!” He glances back at Alayne but she is gone. Panic rises. The last time he’d felt like this was when he was shot in the chest. Frantically, he looks for her, all while keeping an eye on the workmen.

“Hey, man,” one of them says, “ain’t you a crow?”

“Shut up!” Jon hollers back, turning his head to see where she’s gone.

“What are you doing out of the training camp?”

“Hands up where I can see them!” _Where is she?!_

It’s then that he spots her – a retreating form running from the warehouse into the surrounding black forest. She’s almost at the treeline. Jon’s heart beats painfully.

“Hey, yo. We got a problem at the loading b-“ one of the workmen had disobeyed his order and was radioing for backup. Jon shot at the ground by the man’s feet. He almost jumps a mile. His face pales as Jon continues to point his weapon at all of them.

“Don’t come after us,” he said, aiming at the remaining light illuminating the back of the warehouse before fleeing after Alayne. His breaths were loud here in the dark of The Outside as he ran and ran, his eyes fixed on the white of her top, the only patch of lightness in the dim of the early dawn. She disappears into the dark fingers of the forest and Jon presses himself to move faster than he ever has before.

Entering where she had, he unclips the small torch from his belt. She’d left tracks. “Alayne!” he calls, getting nothing in return. He’s breathing hard as he follows the tracks, his brow is moist with sweat. Jon stops every now and again, switching off his light and standing still, trying to calm his breathing so he can just listen – listen to the forest, listen for anyone who might be after them, listen for her. Nothing. His torch is on again and he continues his hunt.

Her tracks come to an end. Right in the middle of the forest - they completely disappear at the base of a tree. Looking up, Jon’s just in time to see her jump down from a branch, knocking him to the ground amongst the pine needles and spent leaves.

“Alayne,” he says again but as quick as a rabbit, she’s up and fleeing again. “ _Alayne!”_ He’ll not let her get away this time. He makes chase and soon is tackling her to the ground with a thud. She fights him – ineffectively, Jon will admit, but she is only a civilian lacking proper training so the odds are tipped against her. “Alayne!” he huffs sternly, pinning her down to the ground. The both of them breathe heavy as they stare at one another. “Why did you run from me?” She’s bathed in moonglow, filtered down through the trees. She has twigs and leaves in her nice campfire hair.

Alayne only stares up at him, chest rising and falling as she tries to calm her breathing. Her look becomes defiant. “Go on, then,” she spits. “Get on with it and then let me go.”

“Get on with what?”

“You want to fuck me, don’t you? You’ve played the hero and now you expect a reward.”

He does not understand her meaning. The only context he’s heard this word ‘fuck’ in is when General Thorne bellows at them that they need to ‘ _fuck_ up’ their enemies or in training when someone fails to meet target and the whole squad is told to ‘do the whole _fucking_ circuit again’. Both of those sound negative to Jon.

“Alayne,” he says, “I don’t want to fuck you.”

She blinks up at him. In the light of the dawn her eyes look like deep, dangerous pools. “Really?” she asks. “Then, what’s this?” Her wrist slips out from under his hold and she reaches down between them to cup him through his fatigues. Jon hisses, his hips bucking forward into her touch. She finds him swollen hard down there and _Gods_ , is there anything more pleasurable than this?

She strokes him through the fabric – barely anything at all but Jon feels like he might explode out of his own skin from the feeling of it. His breath is jagged and though he’s still on top of her, here in the dark of the forest, it is she who holds the power over him because just one intimate touch from her and he is utterly wrecked with pleasure. “ _Alayne_ ,” he pants, his panted breath moving her hair. “Alay-“ Her smell, her soft curves beneath him, her hand where no-one had touched him before. It was too much. “ _Uhhnnn_.” Jon saw little white sparks behind his eyelids as he screwed his eyes shut and made his sticky mess in his fatigues. He rolled off Alayne, lest he crush her from his weight as he collapsed, feeling both heavy and light all at once.

She sat up, looking down at him as he tried to level his breathing. The moon was caught in her hair. “That... that was... quick.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s true though – whenever he performs the act upon himself it takes him a lot longer to complete. Alayne smirks at him and he wonders what’s so funny? Was that wrong? That it had taken hardly anything at all for her to unman him? “Don’t run away from me,” he finds himself saying.

She studies him before she stands, brushing off the forest debris from her clothes. “I need to get back to my camp. My brother is there, and my boyfriend. Neither of them would take kindly to me bringing home a crow.”

Jon stands. “You can talk to your brother and this boy. I’m no threat to your camp, Alayne. I swear it.”

Again, her lips twitch into a smirk and again Jon is not aware of what caused it. “He’s not a boy. He is a man.”

“But, you called him-“

Alayne began walking. “My boyfriend, yes.” Jon followed. “Or, at least he was my boyfriend, before his stupid mistake got me captured by your lot.”

Jon said nothing for a while, walking beside her with a mess in his undergarments as they made their way through the forest together. “This... boy-friend. What-... what does that mean exactly?”

Alayne laughed. The sound – _oh Gods! The sound!_ – it made Jon’s chest feel strange. “You don’t know?” Jon shook his head. Alayne laughed again – quieter this time, but no less lovely. “It means... it means he is special to me and... well, we are intimate together.”

“Intimate?”

“Yes... we... make each other feel good.”

“Like before? When you-”

“Yes,” she answers before he could finish. “Like that.” She turns away and Jon wonders if he had been wrong to mention it.

“Does that mean that I am a boy-friend?”

“What? No!” She stops to face him. Jon turns toward her too. “Look, if you’re going to help me get back to my camp and stand any hope of being allowed to stay with us, you need to not mention that, ok?”

His mouth was open. He closes it and nods his head. He may be forbidden from mentioning it, but Jon can already tell that he’ll never forget it.

Her eyes are glinting like moonlight on a lake. They bore into his before faltering. “Just... help me get back and I’ll try to convince them to let you stay.” Jon nods his head. Alayne begins walking again. “And you can call me Sansa now.”

Civilians are so confusing.


End file.
